


Aftermath of Love

by Wolf_dog



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Brief mentions of aftermath of torture, John gets kidnapped, Love, M/M, Marking, Mentions of the Fall, Possessive Sherlock, Post Season 3, Werewolves, its all fine
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-11
Updated: 2018-01-11
Packaged: 2019-03-03 11:45:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,119
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13340601
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wolf_dog/pseuds/Wolf_dog
Summary: John knows when things arent quite right - especially when they concern Sherlock.OrThe one in which John pushes Sherlock's buttons and Sherlock is a possessive git who beats around the bush.EDIT********FORMATTING FIXED********





	Aftermath of Love

**Author's Note:**

> Just a quick ficlet that popped into my head. Sorry if the formatting is weird, I had to post this from my phone.

 

Despite the fact that Sherlock continuously scorned him for being slow, John was not stupid. He knew when something was up, especially when it concerned Sherlock. It had started not long after the detective had returned from being “dead”. John hadn’t noticed at first, still too overwhelmed (and _furious_ over the fact that Sherlock had let him believe he was dead for _three years_ ) to pay attention to the subtle signs Sherlock was showing.

First of all, Sherlock was around more than he had been before. Not just as in staying in the flat (because _of course_ John had moved back into their flat after he’d forgiven Sherlock), but whatever room John was in, Sherlock would wander into and stay put. If John was watching telly in the living room, Sherlock would flop onto the couch next to him and start deducing whatever program they were watching with scorn. If John was puttering about in the kitchen, Sherlock would settle in at the kitchen table with some experiment, or he would demand a cup of coffee.

Also, Sherlock was eating more. And regularly. John didn’t even have to nag him to eat anymore, he would eat whatever John set down in front of him with minimal complaint. John took it as a blessing and didn’t ask, worried that Sherlock would go back to his old eating habits if John brought it up.

Besides, John wasn’t blind either. He could see the scars – scars that hadn’t been there before Sherlock left. John had patched Sherlock up enough before the Fall, that he knew that these were new. Despite the fact that the clothing Sherlock generally wore covered up most of them, the ones that did poke out were horrifying. Deep, jagged scars that marked Sherlock’s skin in the ugliest of ways. And they were littered all over Sherlock’s body, more than enough for John to know that they weren’t just scars from getting into scraps. These were deeper and deliberate. Torture scars. John had seen enough of them from his time in Afghanistan to recognise them. But, he didn’t mention it and neither did Sherlock.

The first date John had tried to go on after Sherlock had been back for a few months, was a disaster. Sherlock had been in a sulk from the moment John started getting ready, and didn’t say a word or look at John as John said goodbye. It had bothered John, and he hadn’t stayed with his date for more than ten minutes before leaving again and picking up takeout on his way back to Sherlock. When it came down to it, John would much rather have Sherlock than go out on a date. It was fine. He could live happily as long as Sherlock was alive and with him.

Crime scenes were another matter altogether. It took a while before they started getting cases again, but when they did, Sherlock wouldn’t leave him behind. He would rush off ahead, but he would always make sure John wasn’t far behind. And he never left John at a crime scene. This was a change that John most definitely wasn’t going to bring up, and one that he quite liked to be honest. Sherlock also didn’t seem to like John being too far away from him whilst they were at crime scenes. It took a few crime scenes before John figured this one out. If John strayed too far away, Sherlock would call him back to get John to take a look at the body, or to get John to tell him what he thought happened.

So, John started testing how far he could go before Sherlock got antsy and called him back. On this particular crime scene, John was standing almost all the way back at where the crime scene tape was. He’d crept back slowly whilst Sherlock was distracted over the body, and Greg was with him as they chatted idly while they waited for Sherlock to share his deductions.

When Sherlock did look up, he glanced around and a small frown creased his brow as when he didn’t immediately see John, then his gaze locked with John’s. Sherlock’s eyes were bright, every colour in them vivid and clear, brighter than John had ever seen them. In the next second they were back to their normal colour, so John dismissed it as a trick of the light. They stared at each other for a few moments, Sherlock scowling at him. He knew exactly what John was doing, and John knew that Sherlock knew. John raised an eyebrow at him, and Sherlock’s scowl deepened before the detective stood up and stalked over to them and corralled John back to the body by sweeping between John and Lestrade and pressing a hand to John’s back.

“Enough,” he murmured in John’s ear, an edge of irritation in his tone.

“I don’t know what you mean,” John responded quietly, his lips quirking up in amusement.

Sherlock scoffed at him, “Don’t be ignorant, John, it doesn’t suit you,” he told John, still pressing close.

“It’s nice to know you care,” John smiled up at Sherlock.

Sherlock said nothing, but the look that he graced John with was full of scorn, and a hint of something else John couldn’t decipher. Sherlock’s long fingers clenched in the back of John’s jumper for a long moment, then released as Sherlock swept in front of him and knelt down in front of the body and started explaining his deductions.

*.*.*.*

It was yet another crime scene, this one was a particularly gruesome one, one that made even John cringe and Sherlock pause. The past four crime scenes had been spotless, frustrating and pleasing Sherlock in equal parts. But now everyone was feeling the pressure as the killer kept getting away and leaving no clues, four men in their fifties now dead. John was hanging back a bit, wanting to not have to look (or smell) at the corpse constantly. He was still in the ‘zone’ of acceptability according to Sherlock, which was good, because John was unnerved by this one. All of the men (besides their age) looked too much like himself for his comfort. John wasn’t one to be unnerved easily, but whoever was doing this was obviously sick and twisted beyond belief and John didn’t want to be anywhere near them.

“Woah! What’s happened?” A young female voice caught John’s attention, and he glanced to the side to see a high schooler standing at the crime scene tape.

“You don’t want to see this,” John stepped up to her, a small part of his brain telling him he was now too far away from Sherlock, but it was quickly silenced by the protector in him.

“Is it murder?” She asked, staring up at John with wide eyes.

Like John, she was average looking. Average height, average weight, pale skin, blue eyes and blonde hair. She could quite easily have blended into any crowd. There was something about her though… Something that was bothering John.

“A fairly gruesome one, yes,” John answered her then added gently, “So you should probably move along.”

“Oh, don’t worry. I watch a lot of crime scene shows, I’m fine,” She told John, peering around John and staring straight at the bloody murder.

What had made even John grimace, she didn’t flinch at.

“Ewww,” She wrinkled her nose, then her gaze turned to the side. “Oh! Is that Sherlock Holmes? Is he solving the murder?”

She sounded excited to see him, moving straight on from the murder. John watched her carefully. He’d lived with Sherlock long enough to control his body to conceal things, so he smiled at her and said, “Yes, he’s going to solve it. He _is_ a genius after all.”

Her wide eyes turned up to John, almost sparkling, “ _You_ must be John Watson then! I’m such a huge fan!” She pressed closer to him, looking up at him in adoration.

“I am,” John acknowledged with a smile, leaning a little closer to her. “You don’t think I’m a little old for you?”

“Oh, definitely not,” she laughed quietly, then grabbed his hand and a pen and wrote her number on it, her pale cheeks flushing red.

“I’m glad,” John flirted, “I’ll give you a call later, if you’d like.”

“For sure. I best be off now,” She said, winking up at him then turned and left, glancing back at him a smiling before disappearing from sight.

John watched her go.

“Enjoying yourself?” A scathing voice cut in, sounding disgusted, “I knew you liked blonde’s John, but really, this is going a bit far.”

“Don’t worry, there’s only one person in my life right now,” John said, glancing up at Sherlock’s dark scowl with a smile.

He flashed his hand – and the phone number – at Sherlock, “I do believe I’ve just gotten the phone number of our murderer.”

*.*.*.*

The girl was harder to catch than anticipated, even with her phone number. On the third day, John needed a break. There was nothing he could do here to help, and Sherlock was in a foul mood, rejecting anything John said viciously. But he still refused to let John out of sight.

So, John got dressed in his best going-out clothes (the ones normally reserved for dates), including his best shoes, spent a while in the bathroom making himself look presentable, then walked out to the living room and collected his keys and phone from the table.

“I’m going out,” he announced to Sherlock, who was sulking on the couch.

Sherlock’s head snapped around and his eyes were vivid bright yet again as he took in the clothes John was wearing. “Going on a date? In the middle of a murder investigation?” Sherlock snarled scathingly.

“Something wrong with that?” John asked, raising an eyebrow. He wasn’t, of course, but it was fun to tease Sherlock a little.

Sherlock’s eyes glowed brighter than ever for a moment before he turned back to facing the sofa. “Have fun then,” he huffed.

“Ta. I’ll see you later then,” John said, waving a hand and turning and going down the stairs, making sure to lock the door on his way out.

He glanced back up at the window of their flat from the street below, and had to suppress a smile as he saw Sherlock glowering down at him. Waving smugly, John turned and walked off. There was a street festival going on not far from here that he wanted to go to. It would take his mind off the case for a while and give him a chance to stretch his legs.

After walking a few blocks, the hairs on the back of his neck prickled and John turned his head just in time to see a tall figure slink out of view. Ah. So, Sherlock was following him? Well, whatever. As long as he didn’t mess anything up for him, John didn’t mind much. As much as John loved Sherlock, he needed a break from him every now and then. Being constantly around Sherlock drove him bonkers.

So, John ignored his stalker and walked on to his festival and night out.

It was just a small festival, but there were a lot of people. He stumbled on someone’s shoe and fell into someone else, apologized profusely and moved not. Not long after, John started feeling woozy. He’d been drugged so many times that he recognized the feeling immediately. Casually, he stuck his hand into his pocket and pulled out his phone. His vision was starting to blur, but he managed to find the setting for turning on his location, switched it on and then speed-dialed one. He kept walking as he did this, bringing his phone to his ear and glancing around to see if there was anyone watching him. Not that he could see, but his brain was turning fuzzy as well now.

It kept ringing, and John prayed Sherlock would pick up. He knew Sherlock hated phone calls, but hopefully Sherlock would pick up. Hopefully Sherlock wasn’t ignoring his phone – or John. It picked up and John breathed a sigh of relief. He shook his head and mouthed a curse, as if the call hadn’t gone through, then shoved his phone back into his pocket. Hopefully, whoever was attempting to kidnap him (because, seriously, he’d gone through this far more often than he’d liked), would say something that would help Sherlock find him.

John cursed loudly as his knees gave out, and he crashed to the ground, hitting his head then everything went dark.

*.*.*.*

John woke with a groan, rolling his neck and flexing his toes and fingers. Wiggling his eyebrows, he quickly figured out that he was blindfolded. His wrists and ankles were also bound. Sighing, John mused that he’d come-to like this far too often. Really, he was getting a bit old for this.

“I’m sure Sherlock will come soon to save you,” a young voice giggled, the sound echoing.

So, they were most likely in an abandoned building somewhere. Not in the center of London, as he couldn’t hear traffic. Probably in the industrial area, where there was less traffic.

John raised an eyebrow in response, recognizing the voice as that of the young teen who’d given him her phone number. No doubt Sherlock was on his way, hopefully with backup.

“I’m here. Now where’s John?” Sherlock voice’s resounded, sounding like it was coming from a separate room.

“Stay silent and you’ll live,” a voice hissed in his ear, accompanied by a gun to his neck, nudging him to stand. “Are you alone?” The girl asked in a yell.

“Of course I’m alone. The Yard is always slow to catch up,” Sherlock scoffed, and John grumbled internally. The nutter had better be lying, and that the Yard was actually outside.

The gun nudged him to walk, so John walked, and heard Sherlock’s sharp intake of breath. “You’ve injured him,” Sherlock said in a low, dangerous rumble.

Now that he mentioned it, John had hit his head earlier and he now he could feel blood clotting against his skin.

“I never promised to keep him unharmed,” the girl laughed deranged, “And now I have both of you! Oh, what a perfect pair! Once you’re both dead, the police will never catch me!”

“You’ll have to kill us first,” Sherlock pointed out, and John could have cursed him. What was he doing?

“I don’t think it’ll be that hard,” she chuckled, “You make one wrong move, and John here dies. And if he doesn’t obey, you die. Easy!”

She cackled madly, then stopped abruptly as an awful bone-cracking noise echoed. “W-what?” she stammered, stumbling backwards and John wished desperately that he could see what was going on.

More cracking came. “You should never have hurt **my** John,” Sherlock’s voice came out in a low snarl.

“WHAT THE FUCK,” the girl screeched, and the gun lifted from John’s neck and started firing in Sherlock’s direction.

“No!” John yelled, swinging out blindly, only to find himself being pushed down roughly by something large and soft.

A rough tongue licked over his wound, then the weight holding him down was gone. John was helpless as he struggled against his bindings, listening in confusion to the sound of screams and growls and gunshots.

With a thud, silence echoed. Then, the clack of claws coming towards him. Breath on his face, then whiskers, and then he could see as he blindfold dropped away. Standing in front of him, was a magnificent wolf. Tall and lean, with dark black curly fur and vividly bright blue eyes with other colors swirling within. Sherlock’s eyes. John would recognize those anywhere.

“Mind untying me?” John asked, raising an eyebrow and wiggling his fingers.

Sherlock tilted his head to the side, looking momentarily surprised, then his head dropped down and sharp teeth easily cut through the rope binding him.

“Ta,” John said, rubbing his wrists. “I’m getting a bit on for this whole kidnapping thing,” John sighed as Sherlock released John’s feet as well.

Sherlock’s gaze met his, and he stepped forward, bringing their faces close together. Sherlock’s eyes searched his.

“Don’t worry, I’m not going to freak out on you,” John chuckled, reaching up and resting his palm against Sherlock’s cheek. “Are you okay? She didn’t hurt you, did she?”

Sherlock’s gaze slid to the side, up at the wound on John’s head, and he licked it again. “Yes, I know _I’m_ injured,” John said irritably. “But are you?”

Sherlock huffed, turning his head and gazing at his flank. John followed his gaze and sucked in a sharp breath as he saw the wound. It looked like a bullet had grazed Sherlock’s side. John prodded at it carefully, frowning. “We’re going to need to stitch that up. Can you turn back?” John asked, meeting Sherlock’s gaze once more.

Sherlock gave a low bark and shook his head. “Oh well. I’d best call Lestrade to lock the girl up. Can you go back to the flat?” John suggested, then sighed as Sherlock shot him a look. “Fine, alright, you can stay. But then we’re going straight home and fixing you up!”

*.*.*.*

After a lot of explaining and evading, John managed to convince Lestrade that they’d got the girl, and gotten them both back home. After stitching Sherlock up again, he tended to his own injuries and settled down on the couch.

“You’ve met werewolves before,” Sherlock said, and John glanced over to the doorway to see Sherlock staring at him with a frown.

John waved him over and waited until Sherlock joined him on the couch before speaking. “I saw a lot when I went on tour in Afghanistan,” he told Sherlock with a shrug. “Lots of violence and anger, more bodies than I can count, and supernatural beings. Freaked me out at first, but werewolves are quite frankly the most peaceful of the lot. Besides the whole marking thing, they’re easy enough to get along with.”

Sherlock looked affronted for a moment, “Then, you know, I -,”

John laughed. “Yes, Sherlock. I’m not blind. I know you’ve marked me out at yours. You could have just asked me out for a date, you know,” John told Sherlock in amusement, watching as Sherlock’s pale cheeks heated.

“It’s all fine,” he assured Sherlock with a warm smile.

Sherlock huffed, glancing down at John for a long moment before leaning down and capturing John’s lips in a quick kiss. “You’re mine,” Sherlock murmured against his lips, eyes vivid bright.

“Mm, I know,” John responded, kissing Sherlock chastely before leaning against him and turning on the Telly.

Sherlock’s arm wrapped around him and John smiled.

This was good. Everything was good.


End file.
